


Re-written

by Desdimonda



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Current timeline, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, oh boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-10-23 01:49:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10709601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdimonda/pseuds/Desdimonda
Summary: The huntress thought she was free; free to a life where she could begin again. But before she could take the first step, he was back. Back, before her - revered, wanted, needed, so that the world could just, survive.Illidan knows he has returned because the word weeps, it burns, falling to its knees before the Legion. And upon waking, returning to Dalaran, he sees Maiev.For ten thousand years, all they had was each other. Their anger. Their pain. Their regret. Now, what do they have?





	1. Nothing

_ Is it done? _

Maiev stood at the edge of Krasus’s landing, the silence of the city behind her, eerie; heavy. Almost everyone of import was below, their feet upon Suramar or with the Nighthold, for tonight they were bringing Gul’dan to his knees.

_ And bringing  _ **_him_ ** _ back to his feet. _

She stood in her full armour, the light of Elune catching what shine remained on the scuffed metal, scarred with years and memories she’d rather forget. Since her rescue from the cells, by the aid of the Deathlord and her brother, Maiev had barely shed her armour, feeling bare and vulnerable without. She’d heard two young humans whisper they didn’t know what she looked like beneath the helmet. Good.

Her chakrams hung by her hips as she stared, accompanied by nothing but the whip of wind, coiling her hair, pulled back high, tangling in the elaborate rise of her pauldrons. She had kept asking herself why.  _ Why  _ she hadn’t gone. Suramar was the home of her people. She remembered what it used to be like, when she was young. Even Tyrande was there, knowing who they were bringing back.

_ “This - he - is our last hope, Maiev.” _

_ “What other choice do we have?” _

_ “This has always been his destiny.” _

Destiny. She snarled as that word echoed in her head. When had destiny been kind to her? All promise, all hope of High Priestess was pulled from beneath her, and all semblance of a life had been quashed by her sentence - by her charge - in the Vault, as his guard. 

_ If this has always been his destiny, then where do I stand? What is mine? _

Maiev felt the air shimmer with arcane, the hair on her arms bristling as she saw a bright slit of light fracture the air in the middle of the landing, followed closely by a loud crack. The air fizzed and the slit turned into a circle big enough for several to stand.

She held her breath.

First, she saw Khadgar, Atiesh hitting the ground with a clatter as he stepped through, maintaining the summoning circle’s integrity as best he could. His robes were weathered, worn, tinged with fel fire, and she was sure he was just about ready to collapse. 

But so was she, as Maiev watched Illidan walk out from the portal, very much alive.

Two of his Illidari flanked him - their names escaped her - everything, escaped her, but him.

“Where are my Illidari?” she heard him ask, looking around the landing, the fel green of his eyes searing through his blindfold; a blindfold she remembered tying. 

“Mardum - behind, on an island, we have a portal,” said Kor’vas, her voice a stumbling mixture of awe and concern.

“Why - why don’t we get you a room in Dalaran first? Some rest; food-”

“I don’t need rest; I don’t need food,” said Illidan, brushing aside Khadgar’s suggestions as he stepped forward, his spectral sight, seeing  _ her.  _

“I, uh, my Lord-” tried Kor’vas, but Illidan rebuffed her with his wings, spreading them with a snap.

Khadgar watched him walk, warily, knowing exactly who he had seen. 

Maiev raised her head high, watching Illidan approach; seeing the moonlight catch on the curve of his ragged horns; seeing how his wings spread, defensively; the bright green of his eyes, his tattoos, luminescent in the night. And all the while, trying to understand how to come to terms with seeing the dead,  _ live.  _

“Stayed up to welcome me back Maiev?” said Illidan, pausing paces before her, curving his wings around his body, slowly, elegantly. 

“Only in hopes that it wouldn’t  _ work,”  _ she bit, curling a fist in frustration that she had to look  _ up  _ to him. She almost stepped back onto the shattered pillar behind to give her height, but she remained still; steadfast; holding her pride.

Illidan chuckled, the sound soft, almost melodic, against the croak of his unused voice. “Sorry to disappoint,” he said, feeling the tentative presence of Kor’vas approach, the nudge of her demon so close to the surface.

“I’m used to it,” she said, taking a challenging step forward, his wings almost wrapping around her arms. “But you have a whole world to disappoint again. Don’t let  _ me  _ get in the way.” 

As she turned, the edge of her cloak gliding against Illidan’s hooves, she heard him hiss her name; she felt him move. And a second later, felt a hand around her arm. 

Maiev would have flinched on instinct if she could breathe. To feel him here again; to have him  _ live  _ amongst them as more than an ally - a saviour! - when all her life had been dictated by his failings. She was sure she almost fell, but a hand - his hand - steadied her, saving her grace, as he slowly turned her around.

“I want to stop the Legion and save this world,” he said, fingering along her forearm gently as he let her regain her composure. “Our world.”

Even as she shook, Maiev whipped free her arm from his hold. “For yourself, or for her?”

Illidan’s wings drooped, the thick leathery skin folding in against his back as he watched, the green of his eyes dimming beneath his blindfold. “Why I have always done this, Maiev, for my people,” he said, feeling Kor’vas’s arm latch to his. “For my Illidari; for everyone I love.”

“What do you know of love?” said Maiev, feeling the echo of his touch on her arm as she pulled it against her chest. Jarod was by her side now - when had he got here? When had Krasus landing become so busy? The portal had dissipated, but in it’s stead stood several people, talking, watching, milling. 

Illidan reached out, pushing back a twisted lock of white hair, caught in her pauldrons. “What do you?”

Maiev nearly lashed out, breaching the gap between them, but Jarod was a steady constant, holding her in place with his broad arms as Kor’vas and Altruis let their Lord away to the edge of the landing; to his Illidari. 

_ Nothing. Is that what you wanted to hear? I know nothing. I have, nothing. _

She watched the Demon Hunters glide down with Illidan to their landing, realising that Jarod was talking to her; that Khadgar was approaching, expectantly. But she ignored them both.

Pushing off her brother, blank to his protests; words which turned into an unintelligible blur, Maiev pushed through the crowd at first, then breathed in relief as they parted soundlessly for her. Where she was going, she didn’t know. But she walked fast and far, her armour chiming as she ascended the stairs of an old tower, throwing behind the door with a slam, and jamming it locked.

All she’d had for over ten thousand years, was him.

And now, she had nothing.

  
  



	2. Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illidan adjusts to his return to life after years of solitude, and is reunited with his Illidari. He comes face to face with his Slayer, his responsibilities and the weight of being back alive.

Her silence had said enough. Illidan didn’t have to see her to know how hard his words had bit, cutting deeper than a blade. But he was only giving back what he got. Her malicious words fell past her lips, as he’d expected. Illidan felt like he could have written them himself, tilted with the bitter nuance of her voice, with her posture defiant, unwavering.

But yet, _different_.

Stepping through the portal to Mardum, his Illidari around him, supporting with tepid touches as if he might break, everything felt different to what he remembered while caught, lost, in the Nether, waiting, waiting to be found, all sense of time gone. And he wanted to know _why._

Every time he thought he had an answer, it slipped away, unreachable, from his grasp. Was it the claw of time, as it pushed through the world, etching it’s mark? Was it the war, spreading in an echo of the past? Was it the fade of old memories, quashed with new ones, taken with new steps? Was it desperation to survive, amidst the throng of death and chaos?

Or was it just, him?

Stepping free from his prison, he had ended Gul’dan’s life - swift and brutal. It was why he was back, no? To make the Legion fall on it’s knees, before Azeroth did. He’d barely had a moment to remember what it felt like to breathe, to stand, two feet upon the ground, when the world pulled at him, needing him - _now_.

He hadn’t even realised Tyrande was behind him, silent, standing with the Nightborne; the Blood Elves - their kin, their kind. She drew away, falling behind faces he didn’t recognise, unable - or unwilling - to look at him. He didn’t know which one it was. Not yet. Not now.

Khadgar had said something then, and Kor’vas reached his side, her hands holding his arm as if testing he was really, real. But in that moment, all he could see was Tyrande, Elune’s grace shimmering around her aura like she had bathed in the stars. He had expected to feel the breathless joy at being before her again - alive. The memory of her that had lingered with him all through his banishment, imprisonment, his crusade through Outland - a reminder of why he did this - was real again. But it didn’t feel like that. It still felt like a memory, he wasn’t allowed to have.

Distant. Blurred. Falling away, scratched rough, by time.

It felt different; _she_ , felt different.

He hadn’t even heard her voice before he was pulled away and through a portal to Dalaran, where the next thing he saw, was Maiev.

Where he was, she followed. And a part of him found comfort in her sight, in that familiarity, that solidarity of shared imprisonment for ten thousand years. One forced, one voluntary. But Maiev had become a hostage of her own mind, desperation and vengeance.

_Haven’t we all, Maiev? But you didn’t know when to stop - or maybe you did, but you weren’t afraid to keep going._

Had she stopped, now? Is that why this felt different?

_“The huntress is nothing without the hunt.”_

As he pushed back a lock of her hair, remembering the last time he had saw her, and spoke those words, he wondered what she had now, that her hunt was back. That he was alive, before her, an ally, to save this damned world.

He had expected her to lash out, to hit him with more than her bitter words. Something had quelled her fire, and he could even see it as he studied her with his sight, her outline erratic - disjointed. A reflection, of her?

Kor’vas’s gentle voice urged him away, and he felt the ends of Maiev’s silver hair fall past his fingers, catching against his claws, and before he understood, before he had realised the extent of the crowd that surrounded them on Krasus’s landing - they were on Mardum, and he was on the Fel Hammer, with his Illidari. His people. His home.

 

* * *

 

 

“And...there she is,” said Kayn, as he leaned against the outside balcony ledge of the Fel Hammer, reaching out to scratch the ear of a tamed fel bat, perched comfortably on the ledge, large claws biting into the metal. “Our Slayer - Issari.”

A bubble of bright laughter lit up the central chamber of the Fel Hammer as a short statured, but large and curvaceous Blood Elf dashed through the throng of Hunters, of Broken and Naga that milled around the room, the air fizzing with the excitement at their Lord’s return. It had all amounted to this, hadn’t it? They were his creation; his children; _his._ All the Illidari had in the end, were each other and Illidan. And at last, they were reunited.

“My Lord!” said Issari, as she dashed forward again, stopping a pace before Illidan, her round face, aching, from her smiles.

Kayn laughed gently, still scratching the fel bat’s ears as it yawned. Kor’vas, perched on the balcony, nudged Allari with her knee. “Hundred gold she’s going to hug him,” she said with a whisper as she leaned down.

“Two hundred,” said Kayn, watching her thick, tight curls bounce with every lively word.

“Issari’s learned some restraint since her time -” began Allari, but groaned quietly as she watched her step forward and wrap her arms around Illidan’s broad body, her face lost against his chest and in her curls.

“It’s sweet how hopeful you are, Allari,” said Kayn as he watched their Lord awkwardly lift his arms around the happy Blood Elf, who was still talking, despite being near buried against Illidan’s chest.

Issari stepped back tilting her head, thick curls caught in her horns. “We are so happy you are back,” she said, sure she was repeating herself.

Illidan nodded, giving her shoulder a squeeze as she at last let go of him. He hadn’t quite expected that, his first physical contact in...years. But Issari acted like it was nothing - like it was a simple, hello. A welcome. And it was. She was happy to have him back - they _all_ were. Illidan gazed out over Issari’s shoulder, watching as the outlines of his Illidari formed as they walked, dashed, talked, sparred in the Fel Hammer - in their make-shift home.

It still bothered him that they had been near forced to make a home on another _planet_ \- out of view of the sensitive eyes of the gentiles of Dalaran; of the Broken Isles and beyond. People lived because of his Illidari, and they were barely allowed to walk Dalaran without their Slayer.

Issari was still talking. And with a gentle tap of her hand against his arm, he was pulled back to her attention.

“Apologies, Issari. It...has been a trying day,” he said, folding his wings against his back, slowly.

“Coming back to life will do that to you, I suppose,” she said with a trill of a laugh, squeezing his forearm before she stepped aside and joined Kor’vas on the balcony edge with a bounce to her step.

“Indeed,” said Illidan, flicking his spectral gaze back to the central chamber of the Fel Hammer. He could feel them - all of them - watch with their sightless eyes, desperate to talk, to be noticed.

“So - when is my official demotion?” said Issari, leaning her head on Kor’vas’s shoulder, thick red curls muffling her ear.

“What?” said Illidan, looking between each of his senior Illidari, one by one. “You are staying as leader of the Illidari, Issari,” he said, seeing her sit upright, sharply. “I cannot lead all of you...while I lead our assault.”

“What - I -”

Kayn watched Illidan, still stroking the bat at his side that was now dozing, content. Kor’vas leaned down to Allari and whispered “Told you.”

“What I saw and heard while I was in the Nether - you are more than capable, Issari. Especially when you have Kayn, Kor’vas, Altruis and Allari at your side,” he said, nodding to each of them, and glancing momentarily out to the main deck, pondering where Altruis was. He hadn’t seen him since he had turned away, defying Illidan’s orders and direction. But now, he was back.

 _Just like me_.

“You...trust me?” asked Issari, her voice small, unsure, as she blinked, her bared fel eyes, wide.

“I trust all of you,” said Illidan simply. “And I need all of you to do what I cannot - and lead the Illidari.”

“But - we just got you back,” blurted Issari, pushing away Kor’vas’s elbow at her ribs.

“And you still have me,” he said, his wings twitching, flaring a little as he felt the weight of the sightless eyes behind him; of the Broken who were here, and who had every right to _not_ be. The naga that remained loyal; Mother Matron’s sisters, who protected the Illidari like family.

Because they were. They were all, family.

He turned and leaned against the balcony, unable to bear the weight of all he had thought lost, returned, and stared out over Mardum, at it’s near bare wastes, but for pockets of fel and demons, that clung to the desecrated world - the world where he had sent them, and then to only come back into Maiev’s trap.

His claws scratched against the metal.

“But Azeroth needs me more,” he said, his wings drooping in an echo of his ears, as he stared beyond, out, away.

Kayn pushed away from the balcony and took Issari’s hand, pulling her away. She made to speak, but Kor’vas hushed her before helping Allari to her feet from her spot on the floor.

“You know where we are if you need us, my Lord,” said Kayn as he gave a small, respectful bow, Issari’s hand clutched tightly in his still.

“Illidan - wait-” began Issari, trying to free herself from Kayn’s hold, but she stopped, paces away from the Demon Lord, her arm outstretched, stuck to Kayn. “Thank you for your trust. I won’t fail you; we, won’t fail you.”

Illidan turned, looking over his shoulder at the four, their unique auras all so bright, so alive, since his return. And all he could do at that moment, was smile.

Then with a spread of his wings, Illidan bent down, leapt, and soared high into the sky, leaving behind a gust of wind from the push of his wings, as he flew, flew away.

For so long, he had been in solitude, trapped in the Twisting Nether.

But now he was back, all he wanted, was to be _alone_.


	3. Sleep It Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maiev tries to cope with Illidan's return. She doesn't have the healthiest of coping mechanisms. But who can blame her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for alcohol use.

Maiev kicked aside an empty bottle - full one in her hand - as she strode across the small room with unsteady steps, and perched herself on the windowsill. Again.

As she stared out over Dalaran, it’s lights bright, basking the city in a comforting glow, Maiev suddenly realised it was night, all over again. How long had she locked herself here? How long ago was it since  _ he  _ had returned, taking his first steps into the city?

Barefooted, she kicked the arch of the window, pushing against the cold wall at her back, her long, white hightail tangled between skin and stone. Maiev could see the island where the Demon Hunters took the portal to Mardum, and every so often she watched one glide off the edge or saw one fly down atop a felbat, away, away from Dalaran and not even somewhere that was the same  _ planet _ . 

_ What else do they deserve? _

But yet, Maiev didn’t even have a home - she didn’t even have a place to call hers, anymore. She flitted between rented rooms; between tents, propped up hastily in camps across the Broken Isles as they moved endlessly, in circles. As they chased demons that once slain, just appeared back where they had begun. And so they’d start again. Endless.  _ Endless.  _

_ You freed them, Maiev. You chose to give them back to the world. Because the world needs them _ .

Choices. They were all Maiev had left, weren’t they? The echoing consequences of her past ones; the weight of those she had to make for the future - if they even had that - and now, the limbo of what she ran from, and the choices she had to make  _ here.  _ But what were they? 

Maiev took another drink, the wine potent and bitter. It was not good. But she wasn’t here to enjoy it. Just like she wasn’t here to enjoy this. She was here for a purpose - to stand with her sisters, her brother, her people - and try to save this damned world. That was a choice, wasn’t it? To choose whether to stand at their side, or turn and walk away.

Why was she even entertaining the latter? There was no way she could do that, now. Not after she had let the Demon Hunters free for this  _ very  _ purpose. She’d just turn into another hypocrite  and into that which she despised, herself. A betrayer. 

But a betrayer she now had to stand beside. A betrayer that was now  _ not that.  _ The world looked up at him, instead of down. The world wanted him. They needed him. For so long they had hated him - or even, forgotten about him - locked beneath the earth in his prison, Maiev at his vigil, near hearing his every breath, his step. Nine steps from one end, to the other. She’d echoed them, sometimes, as he’d paced, hoping for a  _ rise. _ And at first, she had gotten one, his anger coiled to a peak; her name falling past his lips with curses, with sentiments of her arrogance, of their foolishness for not fully  _ believing  _ him. A thousand, ten thousand years, and they would come to Azeroth again. They would make it  _ theirs.  _

But then, she’d do it without realising. She paced nine steps now. Back, forth. A comfort, a familiarity. And she couldn’t shake it. Near ten thousand years of it. Why would she? It was part of who she was, now. 

> _ “Every step you take, I will follow,” she had said, watching him pause, his broad body tense, and the shackles around his wrists, trembling.  _
> 
> _ “And if I take no more?” he had sneered, turning to face her. _
> 
> _ “Then neither will I.” _
> 
> _ He had laughed then, loud and long, the chime of his shackles echoing behind his laughter. Then he had stepped closer, to the wall of his cell, fingers touching the enchanted bars, biting against his fel-touched flesh with a hiss. _
> 
> _ “How long has it been now, Maiev?” he asked, bright fel green eyes staring at her through his blindfold.  _
> 
> _ Why did he still wear that? Comfort? Shame? She reached up and grabbed the cloth, tearing it from his face before she cast it aside, far and away from his reach. _
> 
> _ “Too long,” she said, “but yet, not long enough.” _
> 
> _ Illidan flinched when she had touched him, her fingers cold against his skin. But he just stared, noticing she had stepped closer, closer - so close he could feel her breath. _

She hated this. She  _ hated  _ it. But it wasn’t just because he was back, and The Betrayer had become an ally. No. Saviour. 

Maiev drank again, shivering at the potent, bitter liquid.

Champions from the Horde, the Alliance - from each of their orders had risked their own lives to bring him  _ back,  _ where just a few years before they had risked everything to bring him to his knees. Were the last ten thousand years diminished now? Were they worthless, void of meaning of her sacrifice - of her sister’s - now that he walked among them, as one of them? 

Maiev drank again, the bottle nearly slipping from her fingers.

Her life had slipped away, falling, falling, through fingers that couldn’t hold anymore. For so long, she knew her purpose. She knew what she had to do. To watch him. To bear the sole responsibility, for him. And now, what was it worth?

Nothing.

She emptied the bottle and threw it to the floor, shards of glass spreading with a hiss.

Staring out over Dalaran, she saw a bird approach, it’s wings spread wide. Was it one of her owls? Was it an eagle of Highmountain, flying far and away from home, lost, like her?

When it flew right towards her, claws outstretched and braced for landing, Maiev noticed it was neither of those. And when it approached, barely fitting through the open window, Maiev stumbled off the windowsill and to the floor, her bare feet trying to avoid the swathe of glass that decorated the floor like tears.

With a bright coil of blue magic, shimmering before her and around the bird, its claws turned into feet; its wings into arms, and feathers into that familiar blue and grey robe, worn and weathered from battle, and time. 

“What do you want, Khadgar,?” she slurred, pulling herself upright, her powerful body able to withstand the unstable tremor of alcohol. Despite the slur, her words were curt and sharp. She had no patience for him. She had no care for his words. Not today, not tomorrow.

“It’s not what I want,” he said, Atiesh clicking on the floor as he turned around to face her, his brow arching as his eyes caught the shattered glass and several more empty bottles of wine scattered around the room. A room that wasn’t hers. “The occupant of this room would quite like it back, if you’d be so kind,” he said, his voice low; his words dry.

“I’m sure they can find another bed in Dalaran. It has more than one, yes?” she said, trying to suppress a hiccup. 

Khadgar smirked, leaning forward on Atiesh as he watched her, curiously. This wasn’t the first time he’d found her drunk. The first time she’d punched him. He still had the bruise two weeks later. But he wasn’t put off by that. She’d stuck herself in here, door locked, closed off, ignoring everything despite the owner’s incessant attempts at knocking, banging, and trying to barge his way in. She’d barricaded it well, broke off the lock, and she didn’t give a damn.

“Your sisters are worried for you,” said Khadgar, trying to appeal to one of the few things left in her life that mattered. “Jarod too.”

Maiev sneered, turning her back to Khadgar as she leaned on the windowsill, watching the shimmer of the stars disappear behind a breath of cloud. “He had ten thousand years to give a damn - why start now?”

“That isn’t fair, Maiev,” said Khadgar, his words terse but careful.

Maiev’s claws scratched against the stone. “Your lifetime is but a blink in mine - an insignificance that could be repeated near a hundred times or more. What do you know what is fair and not, for someone like me?” 

Khadgar had expected as much in reply, her words scathing and loud as they bounced off the walls and his ears. “Then at least come back for your Wardens. They need you.  _ We _ need you, Maiev, before this-”

Maiev pushed herself from the window and turned, sharply, her long hightail whipping around her body with the force. “And when will someone give a damn about what I need?” she cried, stepping closer to Khadgar, feeling a shard of glass bite through the hard skin of her feet. But there was no pain. She just, felt it. 

Khadgar tilted his head back, looking up at the Warden. She stood at least a foot taller than he did, even barefoot and slouched, as she was now. “I know it must be hard for you, to see him alive-”

Maiev laughed. A short, sharp bark of a laugh that startled Khadgar and made his words fall flat. “You  _ know _ ? You claim to know all these things, Khadgar, but I doubt you have felt a shred of what keeps me awake,” she said, her words rising, slurred, before she stepped away from him and fell against the wall to pick the shard of glass from her foot. She cast it aside, stained with her blood. “I killed him.”

Her head lolled against the stone, loose, white strands of hair sticking to her lips as she spoke. 

“I watched him die as I struck the final blow,” she said, holding out her hand before her, staring at the thin scars etched there, from when she had been his prisoner. “Years of being his watcher, of pursuing him, of knowing that the only thing I needed was his life - and then I had it.”

She was quiet for a long while, staring at her outstretched hand, poised, trembling.

Khadgar took a step closer, his feet crunching the shards of glass littered over the stone. “We are in desperate times, Maiev,” he said, dipping his head in near apology. 

Maiev curled her outstretched hand to a fist, watching each finger tap against her palm, the tips of her nails pressing into her skin. “He knew the Legion would come to swallow Azeroth whole. But none of us really listened.”

“Go to bed, Maiev. Sleep it off,” said Khadgar, rubbing his weary eyes with the back of his hand. 

She turned, staring at Khadgar as if she had only just seen him; as if she didn’t quite understand why he was here. “Sleep it off? Sleep the last, wasted ten thousand years of my life, off?” 

“Just tonight will be a good start,” said Khadgar, running a hand through his grey hair. 

Her fist, still clenched, trembled before her chest as she stared, trying to decide if Khadgar had even heard her, or if she’d just spoke the words to herself, to nothing and no-one.

“I gave up my life to keep watch of him; to find him, to end him. And now you all risked yourselves to bring him back.” Maiev looked away, staring at the door, where a trail of bottles, of shed clothing and pieces of armour lay. 

She trembled, her heart pounding so loud, she couldn’t hear. For Khadgar was speaking, but she didn’t know what he was saying. Words, muted, disappeared into nothing as she just stared at the door, wishing more than anything that she still had a drink.

As the honesty of her had fallen past her lips to the Archmage, she still couldn’t understand what she felt.

She wanted to blame the alcohol. But it was the reason she had started drinking. She wanted to blame Khadgar’s incessant intrusion. But it was the reason she had ran away in the first place.

She was angry; angry at herself, at her people and Illidan. Frustrated that nothing was within her control. Loathed, that she was ignored, looked past, and forgotten.

But a part of her felt relief when she looked at Illidan; when he spoke; when the world blacked out to nothing, but him.

Relief, because she was no longer alone.

Maiev reached for the door, turned the key and left, Khadgar shouting words she didn’t care after her as her foot left patches of blood over the stone floor.


End file.
